


don't mind the noise (it's just me freaking out)

by Over_the_Love204



Category: How to Get Away with Murder, Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Gen, M/M, Some angst, but you never know, i might add more?, inspiration might hit again!, kind of doubt it, okay so it's a little prison break crossover, the htgawm/prison break crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Over_the_Love204/pseuds/Over_the_Love204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ride over is quiet and bumpy; the atmosphere is much the same.  The faces that surround him have a mix of emotions displayed on their faces; some are fearful, others filled with grim determination, and then there are those that simply emote resignation.  He wonders who is guilty of their crimes and who just faced the other end of the stick of someone like Annalise Keating.</p><p>"The question I am most often asked as a defense attorney is whether I can tell if my clients are guilty or not.  And my answer is always the same: I do not care."</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't mind the noise (it's just me freaking out)

 

The ride over is quiet and bumpy; the atmosphere is much the same.  The faces that surround him have a mix of emotions displayed on their faces; some are fearful, others filled with grim determination, and then there are those that simply emote resignation.  He wonders who is guilty of their crimes and who just faced the other end of the stick of someone like Annalise Keating.

_The question I am most often asked as a defense attorney is whether I can tell if my clients are guilty or not.  And my answer is always the same: I do not care._

He rubs his chilled hands together, but that only makes him remember his shackles as they clank together noisily.  The sound draws some attention from the other convicts but they quickly turn away moments later.  Next to him, Wes pinches his side.  When Connor looks up at him, he can see lines that weren’t previously there straining, standing out on that handsome, once innocent face.  His mouth is pinched together as he quickly shakes his head as if to say, _no noise._ Wes Gibbins is one of those few grimly determined people in their truck.

They start to slow down but because there are no windows (everyone in this thing is a dangerous criminal, didn’t you hear?  They’re being shipped across state lines to a maximum security state penitentiary) Connor isn’t sure whether they are at another traffic light or if they’ve arrived to their new home.  He taps his thigh with his fingernails that been chewed down to the quick, bloody and sore. Wes is an immovable statue next to him. When they’ve been stopped for a few minutes, everyone begins to get restless.  Then their guards stand as one cohesive unit and the doors to the prisoner transport vehicle are thrown up.

“Everybody up!  Everybody out, one at the time!”  The guard speaking is rough and his voice is gravelly.  There’s a bit of a shuffle and then a line before Connor and Wes are able to step out of the vehicle.  The air is brisk and the sky is clouded over with the prospect of snow.  But the weather is quickly put out of Connor’s mind when he catches sight of the tall stone and steel building in front of him, sprawling out and across a grassy plain for what looks like acres.  Surrounding the prison is a high fence with curling pieces of barbed wire.  Tall look out towers are posted in each corner with large searchlights.  The point of a rifle is visible from the nearest one to the gate, and its presence makes him wince.  Connor swallows and suddenly his hands aren’t that cold anymore.

Wes has to keep periodically nudging Connor forward on their trek over the grounds and toward the fence.  It looks like it’s the prisoners’ allotted time for yard; they’re milling around in strict groups; black and white are as separate as if they'd traveled back in time.  Many men have gathered to linger by the fence, catcalling and whistling.

“Here fishy, fishy!”

“Oy!  Fish, lookit here!”  Connor keeps looking straight ahead but there are some of his fellows who can’t resist the urge to turn toward the men making all the noise.

When they finally get into the building, they are sent immediately to processing. They have to give up all of their belongings they brought with them.  Wes, in front of him, has a letter from his girlfriend that has clearly been folded and refolded dozens of times that he places reverently in the box along with his wallet.  Connor is clutching a silver watch in one hand and a picture of Oliver in his other. 

_I don’t do boyfriends._

He puts them in his box quickly and without looking at the guard’s reaction.  Next, they’re all told to strip once their shackles are temporarily removed.  Guards stand at every turn, waiting, maybe wishing for one of the act out so they may shoot.  Connor and Wes watch each other’s backs as they undress and their clothes are taken and packaged. 

“I wonder how Michaela and Laurel are doing,” Wes whispers.  They have been confined to a women’s penitentiary in their home state, far away from Fox River.  “About as well as us?”  Wes continues.

“Better, probably,” Connor mutters.

“No talking in line!”  They immediately stop their murmurings and every other man in the room hushes as well.  They are given a set of new white briefs that they quickly pull up, and then they are commanded to walk through another metal detector.  The next room over they must pull on an off white tee shirt and a blue, washed out jumpsuit.

“Let’s move it, men!”  That gravelly voice shouts again.  “I hope none of you are religious because we only have two commandments in here!  The first is that you’ve got nothing coming, you hear?  Nothing.  Commandment two; see commandment number one!”  Despite himself, a little of his good humor returns and Connor ducks his head to smirk at his shoes.

“Something funny?”  Wes stumbles behind Connor when the latter is stopped by one of the guards.

“I’m sorry?”

“Is something funny, con?”  The man bellows.

“No, sir.”

“I’ll be keeping my eye on you.  Now move!”

Connor doesn’t need further prompting.  His heart is in his throat as he and the other convicts are escorted by a swarm of guards down a set of stairs and toward general population.  The others – those who have been here for who knows how long – are still in the yard as Connor, Wes and those they arrived with are ushered down the steel walkway.  Wes and Connor are promptly split up and are led to cells that are across from each other – separated by stairs, a walkway, and the bottom floor of gen pop.  Connor swallows the accumulating saliva in the back of his throat.  The smell of his own acrid, nervous sweat is filling up his nose.

A guard shoves him into an open cell, stating, “Your cellmate will be along shortly,” before he too leaves.  Echoing feet and jeering laughter follow the guard’s statement as the men from the yard return.  Connor’s heart is beating in his ears as man after man walks passed him, each giving him a measuring look as they go by.  He wipes his sweaty palms on his jumpsuit.  Across the way, a pale man with a shaved head enters Wes’ cell.  He seems surprised, even at this distance, but appears to accept Wes’ presence as his new roommate. 

“What do we have here, then?”  Connor’s eyes dart around, landing on a man leaning against the the entrance, conveniently filling up the entire doorway. “I didn’t know I was getting a new cellie.” He tilts his head considerately. 

“Just got here.”  Connor hopes his voice didn’t crack.

The man sweeps his gaze over Connor, from head to toe.  Then he smiles.  “You’re much too pretty to be in prison, fish.”  He steps forward and there is a loud buzzing announcement for all to get into their five by five cells.  The barred doors slide shut with a sharp slap of finality and Connor closes his eyes as his cellmate brushes passed his back side, far too close to be considering anything other an intimate. 

_Oh, what fun to kill someone and end up in jail._


End file.
